Breakfast at Tiffany's
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: This is another sequelcompanion piece to go with all my other stories. It’s HouseWilson slash, mostly fun, and with just a dash of seriousness thrown in. Warning this is slsash and has spoilers for Insesitive and pretty much every episode. Now you know
1. The Diner

Basically another sequel/companion piece to go with all my other stories. It's House/Wilson slash, mostly fun, and with just a dash of seriousness thrown in.

"You say that we've got nothing in common  
No common ground to start from  
And we're falling apart  
You'll say the world has come between us  
Our lives have come between us  
But I know you just don't care," Deep Blue Something

"So," I ask, just as we're leaving the hospital, "breakfast?" House shrugs but continues to follow me nonetheless. The whole ride to the diner he's uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn't shut off completely, and so I can tell that things aren't as bad as they have been, which is at least something. He talks about old cases, complains about patients, and tells me how everyone one the planet, besides him, is a moron; the usual stuff, but after a day like yesterday, I expect him to be willing to attempt a personal conversation.

I know I had to call him on the nerve thing, but that doesn't change how I feel. The place where we wind up starting for breakfast is one of those tacky '50s style diners, but House doesn't seem to mind. It's all decked out for Valentines Day, paper hearts everywhere. Even the waitresses are wearing heart-shaped buttons and either bright red or pink lipstick.

We get seated in a booth, modeled like an old T-bird. A woman dressed in yellow, with jet-black hair, and a nametag that reads 'Marie' approaches us. She's got a pad of paper in her hands and a pencil behind her ear. She couldn't be more stereotypical if she had some sugary, high-pitched voice. Luckily, she doesn't.

"So can I interest you in our Valentine's Day special?" she asks, and then continues without us answering. "It's a heart shaped Belgium waffle with strawberries and whipped cream. You get a choice of bacon, sausage or ham with that," the woman tells us.

"He can't have any of those," House informs Marie, and I'm fairly certain that my cheeks are now the same color as her lipstick. "You see, Wilson's a Jew."

"House! I'm sorry about that miss, he's—my 'friend,' here suffers from Tourette's. Basically, he says whatever pops into his head, regardless of how completely inappropriate it may be." The waitress nods, then smiles uncomfortably, and leaves, but not before getting our orders. Then she goes to the back of the restaurant and starts up a conversation with another waitress.

"What the Hell did you that for?" he asks me. "Now we're never going to be able to eat at this place again."

"Since when do you care what other people think about—anything? Besides, I just gave you a free pass. Although, if it was me, I wouldn't try to get us kicked out of the restaurant until after we get our food."

"I'll do my best, but like you said, I pretty much say whatever pops into my head." Then he winks at me, smiling.

"Yeah, well be careful what you let pop into your head. It would be great if I could just get an hour long reprise from your insanity," I all but beg. House smiles at me again, picking up his fork and inspecting it. Then he wraps his t-shirt around it, wiping the utensil clean.

"That is disgusting. I bet they don't even wash the silverware between uses," he says, looking it over again.

"You're not exactly Mr. Clean, what do you care?"

"The guy who used this fork before me could have had god knows what," he explains, dropping the fork back onto the table. "If he eats at a place like this, he probably doesn't even wash his hands after he poops."

"House!" I shout for what seems like the millionth time, looking around to make sure nobody heard that. He's doing it on purpose, humiliating me like this. The only thing I don't know for sure is whether he is mad at me about last nihgt, or just depressed because he didn't get his cure.

I watch him for a couple of minutes, not really listening to whatever it is he's whining about now. Frankly, I'm a little scared and worried that it was a mistake for me to try and stop him. Sometimes I wish I had all the answers. Come to think of it, one answer would probably do it.

"Oh for crying out loud. The way you are sometimes, I'm starting to wonder if you're the one who had a sex change," he exclaims.

"Could you say that just a little louder? Don't even think about it…Listen, about last night. I think I might have crossed some sort of a line," I start to explain, but as usual, he cuts me off before I get the chance to finish.

"You were right. Regardless of how I feel or the way I reacted at the time, I know that. You may have gone about it like a complete asshole, but you did what you thought you had to do. I'm pretty sure your heart was in the right place on this one."

"Well that's a good thing," I tell him, in a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood. "If my heart were, say, under my gallbladder, I'd be your patient and not—whatever this is…"

"Oh boy. I should have seen this coming. Now you're going to try and define this thing. Great," House mutters under his breath, and goes to work on self-cleaning his knife. Then the waitress comes with our food.


	2. Friends and Lovers

I'm not sure what Wilson got House for Valentines Day. If you guys have any ideas feel free to post them in your reviews. Nothing too dirty, though, okay?

"But of all these friends and lovers  
There is no one compares with you  
And these memories lose their meaning  
When I think of love as something new  
Though I know I'll never lose affection  
For people and things that went before  
I know I'll often stop and think about them  
In my life I love you more," Lennon/McCartney

"Did you know Cuddy was on a blind date last night?" he asks, and then, without waiting for a response he continues. "She slept with the guy too. Or would you prefer to talk about the formally male nurse," House says slyly, and in a voice so loud that it causes me to chock on my coffee. "You know, food and liquids go down the esophagus, only air is supposed to be in your windpipe."

"I really don't care that you're trying to avoid this conversation—okay maybe I do, but that's not the point. I know you're capable of self-control when you want to be in control. SO if you can just pretend—at least until we get back to your place—to give a shit, that would be fantastic."

He watches me for a minute or two, eating slowly. He tries to spear one of the potatoes off of my plate, but I manage to block his fork. After another couple of minutes go by. Then he laughs.

"Do you have any idea how easy it is to screw with you? And fun," House explains, still smiling. I'm gonna ignore him. Yeah, like that would ever work. "Fine. You might not think that it's a big deal, but you're trying to stick a label on this thing," he says as we climb into my car. "You want to categorize us."

"You, want to label and categorize everything! Now all of the sudden you don't? Why, because I'm in charge, because it's my decision?"

"Don't be stupid. I am not that big of a control freak. I'm not!" Then he stares out the window, sinking into his seat.

"Then what is the problem? No. No, you're not doing that again. You told me you wanted my help. You said…" I hate this! Why does everything need to be o complicated with him?

"I don't like change," he tells me as I pull into the parking space in front of his apartment. Then he climbs out of the car and is inside before I can even turn the engine off. When I get into his place, he's sitting on the sofa, flipping through TV channels."

"Turn that off. We're talking. We are having a conversation here."

"We were talking. Now I'm watching TV. See the difference?" Then after a long pause, he adds, "just tell me you didn't get me some moronic Valentine's Day gift."

"What do you think is going to happen?" I ask, waiting for a smart-ass reply, but it never comes. "Nothing is going to change."

"Then why are you pushing me so hard to try and define this thing?" he asks. "As long as it's just us, having fun, then we're okay. But the minute you try and change that…You destroy relationships. I do it too." House's voice trails off.

"And yet, despite that fact, we've been doing this, we've been friends, lovers, whatever, for longer than any of our other relationships. I've been with you longer than all of my marriages put together." He sort of smiles when I say this, and then laughs a little to himself.

"That is how you're going to try and convince me of what—you don't want to move in here again, do you?" he asks, sitting straight up and looking me directly in the eyes.

"What? No! I mean, not right now anyway, unless you want that. But you don't want that, right?"

"No. So what do you want?" he asks, eyeing me suspiciously and reaching for the pill bottle in his pocket. "Don't give me that look. You know that you're the only person who can make me feel guilty and you're going to waist that on my pills?"

I know it's pointless to argue about this with him. Anything else I just might have a shot, but not with the Vicodin. Oh well. That can be another fight for another day.

"I don't know. I just thought that—I want—I you…" What do I want? It would be great if he would treat me like an actual person, but that's asking a lot of him. I guess all I really want is for him to be a bit more considerate of me and my feelings. I don't think I could tell him that though. He'd laugh and call me a name or two or ten.

"Forget it." Then more times goes by. "You never answered my other question, by the way. Did you get me a Valentine's Day gift or what?"

"You humiliated me in the diner, stiffed me on your half of the check, basically accused me of having had a sex change operation and now you expect me to give you a present?" I ask, but he's right, of course. At least, I bought it over a week ago, and not today. House looks up at me for about thirty seconds and then bursts out laughing.

"Yes, I do. Because that's just how you are, Jimmy. This is the first Valentine's Day that we've both been single. I'm surprised you didn't hire some guy to sky write, 'Wilson loves House,' over my apartment, or the hospital."

"No. That's what you'd do. You just wouldn't put your name in it. You'd pick the most embarrassing name to go with mine."

"But you still got me something. Didn't you? Well, come on then. Hand it over."


	3. Happy Valetine's

AN: Still no gift ideas!!!!!! Please help. Oh and I think this could be finished in one to two more chapters. Does the "I almost completed a story" dance.

"I wanna love you and treat you right;  
I wanna love you every day and every night:   
We'll be together with a roof right over our heads;  
We'll share the shelter of my single bed;  
We'll share the same room, yeah! - for Jah provide the bread.  
Is this love - is this love - is this love -  
Is this love that I'm feelin'?" Bob Marley

"No," I say with a clever little smile. "Not just yet, anyway." It's a rare occurrence when I have an opportunity to outwit House, to trick him. May I haven't got a great edge over him right now, but I can get him to talk to me by withholding even this little thing from him. He makes his sulking face, rolls his eyes, and last but not least, smiles.

"Maybe you do have a pair after all? Okay then, what's it gonna take to get you off my back?" He looks at me for a while. "Oh come on! I don't know. Okay? I have no idea what we're doing and I'm okay with that."

"I can't believe you think I'm stupid enough to buy that. You have to know everything about everything. I know that you trust mean, I mean you—you told me," House cuts me off.

"And I also told you that I never wanted to talk about it again. Not to mention the fact that I only told you because you—because of what you did. That's not exactly what I'd call trust," he says, turning away from me.

"I wasn't going to say it. What I meant was. I. I'm sorry. That was stupid, but we are close, and you don't get close to anybody." I put my hand on his shoulder. After a few very intense minutes go by, he turns back around and stares at me for a few minutes longer.

"I like things the way they are. This is good. You like me. I like you. We have fun together. Why does that have to change?" he asks, with that look in his eye. Then, suddenly, I realize what's really going on here. He doesn't care that I want to define our relationship. He's not even bothered by the possibility of a serious commitment or a real relationship.

He's scared. House thinks I might leave. He's worried that this relationship is going to end up the way all of his other relationships have, the way all of mine have too come to think of it. Neither one of us is very good at this sort of thing. Sure, there have been plenty times when I've thought about leaving.

I've considered ending everything about a million times. Yes, it would make my personal life much simpler, but there's a good chance that we'd never be able to work together again. He's difficult enough to deal with now, I can only imagine what he'd be like if things ended. Not to mention the guilt.

"I'm not going to walk out on you, even if things don't go the way I want them to. I've stuck with you through a lot of shit. I've put up with just about every stupid thing you've done, and you put up with my stuff. Nothing is going to change," I try to tell him, trying to pull his body a little closer to mine.

"Of course things are going to change. As far as the rest of that goes, it's a load of bull, but I don't care about that. Okay. Fine, I do care. Sue me."

I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him. I don't even know what he's thinking, not really. I love him, I do, and I'm not going to leave him, just to prove some stupid point. That doesn't mean I can't ever get mad at him, though. House frustrates the hell out of me sometimes.

"You know what? I think you're the one who's full of it. Every time I try and get serious, every time, you pick some huge fight with me so that you don't have to deal with it." He doesn't say anything for a while, after I say that, just stare at me.

"I don't know. Alright? You beat it out of me. Happy now?" House asks, reaching for the TV remote. I manage to grab it first, though, and then I throw it across the room. "Hey! Be careful with that."

Of course I'm not happy. The last thing I wanted to be doing on Valentine's Day was getting into a huge fight. Although, come to think of it, with House it seems like almost everything we do ends up in our having a huge fight. That doesn't change my hating it though. It doesn't mean I don't want things to get better, to…change.

"What do you think? On second thought, don't answer that. Look, it's fine that you're not sure. I'm not sure either. That's what I wanted to talk okay?"

"What difference does it make what we call it? We're having fun. We're happy—don't say anything. I like things the way they are. Why should we change something that's working perfectly?"

"You stole my prescription pad, forged my name and almost got both of us sent to prison. You call that working perfectly?"

"That was the past. Now we're fine. Everything is fine," he tells me, looking at the remote and thinking whether or not he should go after it.

"Everything is exactly the same as it was before you…" and then, before I get a chance to finish, he kisses me, hard, and keeps on kissing me, until I just give in.

"So, do you really want to talk right now?" he asks, getting up and heading for the bedroom. House turns and looks at me, smiling. I shake my head, and races after him. Once we get back to his room, he kisses me again. "Happy Valentine's Day," he tells me as we climb into bed.


	4. The Proposal

AN: much thanks to Jamie (Grace on Grey Street) for being the ONLY person to suggest a gift idea. So I'm thinking that this is the end of this story, and then it will be continued in a new piece, which I'll probably start some time next week. Without further ado, here is the next chapter.

"Now I don't worry about the future much  
Now I don't think about the past  
Now I'm learning how to laugh again  
This is where I want to be now," Everclear

After we finish, House turns to me; he smiles and asks, "Well?" To be perfectly honest, I had completely forgotten what we were talking about before, so I have no idea what he is asking me.

"Well what?" I ask, trying to smile and act as if I am not completely confused. First he just watches me for a minute probably trying to figure out whether or not I'm joking. Then he starts to laugh, with just a little chuckle in the beginning, but then he laughs harder and harder, until I feel completely humiliated.

"Okay, knock it off," I tell him and he actually does listen. He stops laughing for all of thirty seconds. "Fine. Keep it up, I'll take your present back to the store." Naturally, this only makes him laugh even harder.

"No you won't, and don't bother threatening to flush my pills down the toilet either, because you'll never go through with that one," he informs me, still stifling a laugh or two.

"Okay, I'll go get it, just stay here and don't do anything completely insane," I say, pulling my pants on and heading out to the car. I take the box from the trunk, seriously regretting the pink and purple striped wrapping paper, but also knowing that it's too late to change things now.

House smiles like a four-year-old on Christmas, when I come back into his room, and it hits me that he's probably never been treated like this. Nobody puts up with his bullshit, with his insanity…Well almost nobody, and of the people who do, sure as hell none of them are going to get him a Valentine's Day gift. After I hand him the gift wrapped box, he just holds it for a little while, staring again. I think about making a joke, or two, or even a hundred jokes, but he's still trying to figure out if opening it is a good idea.

"This thing isn't gonna explode or anything, like that is it?" he asks, wringing his hands a bit. I sit back down on the bed, and rub his shoulder softly. Does he actually think that, or is he just trying to make me feel bad for him? I don't know.

"Everything is okay. You can be happy for thirty seconds, for a couple of minutes even, and I won't tell anybody," I promise. He looks at me, then down at the box, at me, the box, and back to me again, before tearing the paper off. Then he opens the box and looks blankly at what's inside.

"Is this a joke?" he asks, deciding if he should get mad at me. "Is my real present under the cane? Inside of it maybe?" Then he glances back down at it. "That, is my present? This is what you got me?"

"If you would actually look at it, you'd see that there's a little gold plaque on the side," I tell him, thinking that I've made a stupid mistake. I never should have done this. Roses, chocolate, that's what you give someone for Valentine's Day. No person who needs a cane, wants one, even if it is engraved with a love note.

"Okay, I get the HW even if it is—girly. Did you do this sort of thing for your wives? Anyway, what's so important about this date here?" I can't believe it! He just—I can't—House!

"You honestly don't remember do you? You've memorized entire fucking text books but you can't remember the day we met! Why are you smiling? Do you think this is funny?"

"Man," he says starting to laugh all over again. "I told you, Jimmy. I've said it at least a hundred times. You are so easy!" Upon realizing that I do not find his antics to be hilarious, he stops, but rolls his eyes at me. Then he says something else, and his voice is so soft I almost miss it, but the words are there. "It's nice," he says, which is probably about as close to a thank you as I'll ever get.

"I figured that I owed you a replacement after what I did to the other one," I admit after an awkwardly long period of silence. Things got a little out of hand last year, this year too, but we're finally over the hump. Things just might be working out for us after all. I've spent enough time with House to know better than to expect a present on my birthday, let alone for something like Valentine's Day.

He says that it's not even a holiday, just something made up by greeting card companies to get people from Christmas to Saint Patrick's Day or whenever. Even with all of this experience, however, there is still a tiny part of me which is disappointed when he puts the new cane off to the side but does not get up.

He doesn't ask me to go get something from the closet or the kitchen. He doesn't offer to take me out for dinner, or reach inside the drawer on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. All he does is sit there for a while. His hand only moves twice. The first time he reaches down to rub his leg, grimaces, and then he reaches for the prescription bottle without looking at me.

I don't say anything even though I have plenty of opportunities. There are a lot of lectures I could give him advice I could dispense, but I know he doesn't want it. Some things never change and I've learned better than to try and teach him lessons, especially when it comes to the pills.

More times goes by. Neither of us is saying anything. House lets me hold his hand, but for the most part we're just sitting here. Then, right as I'm standing up to get started on dinner, he stops me.

"Wait," he calls out right when I get to the bedroom door. I turn to face him and he smiles again. "I was thinking…if you wanted to move back in here it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world."


	5. Silly Love Songs

Okay so this really IS the last chapter, I swear.

You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs.  
But I look around me and I see it isn't so.  
Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs.  
And what's wrong with that?  
Id like to know, cause here I go again," Paul McCartney

To be perfectly honest, I don't know how to answer that. Of course, I want to scream, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes but the rational side of my brain keeps on shoot off warning flares. I know that while the sex might be great, and we do love each other and I am here at least three nights a week anyway, this is the big one. We tend to get on each other's nerves from time to time.

The great thing about this set up we have right now, is that when that happens, I can go somewhere else. Things go well one night and he doesn't say anything when I wake up at 6:30 the next morning and start getting ready for work. On the second day he starts coming into the bathroom three or four times so he can make fun of my grooming habits.

On the third day, he'll close the bathroom door, and put a chair under the knob, locking me in for no less than 20 minutes. When he finally does let me out, House complains, because I don't cook breakfast. On the fourth day…well actually, I've never spent four nights in a row at his place—except last year when I didn't have a choice.

Then I leave and go back to my place. A couple of days go by, he calms down, I come back and then the whole thing starts all over again. At least this way, I have someplace to go, when he becomes too annoying to deal with. As awful as it might seem, I like having an escape plan, even now.

"I'm not sure if it's the best idea in the world either," I admit, after about ten minutes go by. He looks up at me briefly, nods and then looks away, but in that instant I can see how much he wanted me to say alright, and how hard it was for him to even ask. "Look it's not that I don't want to do it. I mean, if you really think we can handle living in this place without resorting to beating each other's heads in then, yeah okay, but if you plan on locking me in the bathroom every morning…"

"That's why you're hesitating? I guess you haven't been paying much attention lately, because if you had been, you would have noticed that I haven't done that in three weeks," he says, grumpily.

"No—you did it last—wait." Okay, so he hasn't done it in a while, doesn't mean he won't try it again. House gets up, sighing and stumbles past me, into the kitchen. I expect him to go for a beer but he doesn't.

He just sits at the table, not saying a word. "I'm sorry, you're right," I call out, following after him. "But we haven't got the best track record when it comes to living together and I want us—I want this to last. We have a good thing going here."

"Yes, we do," House, says in agreement. Then he smiles a little. "It's funny, you know, we've completely switched sides on this argument." Okay, this sucks. It's not fair that he gets to be right every time. He should let me win once in a while, just on principal.

"I just—I like you, a lot. I also love you, and I guess—if we do this, it means something. You asking me to move in here, I know it's a test but it's a bad one. Change isn't always a negative thing. Relationships evolve, it happens. IT can be a great thing or a terrible one and—."

"And you're scared," he interjects, cutting me off. Before I get a chance to say, 'yeah, something like that,' he adds, "I know because I am too, but we're never gonna get anywhere if we—okay, I can't be you. You're just as full of it as I am, Jimmy. You tell me that you want more than what we have. You say you want me to be serious about our 'relationship' but what you really want is for everything to stay the same. You want to be in control, and that makes you feel bad. So you try to make me feel bad because you know that I'm just as scared as you."

By the time he finishes with his rant, House is all but yelling at me. He's really mad at me this time, and for once, I can't even blame him. In fact, he's 100 right. I'm an asshole.

"You're right and I know that I can't—I'm sorry. And you're mad at me right now. The easy thing for me to do would be to just walk out and not talk to you for a couple of days, but I'm not going to do that. Okay?" He nods slowly, which is at least something. "Do you actually want me to move in here or was that just your newest tactic for trying to push me away?"

"I don't know. It's just that you're always saying change doesn't have to be a bad thing and how you want to try and make this thing last. I just figured the next logical step would be you moving in and the more I thought about it, the less horrible of an idea it seemed to be. When I asked you, I was even—sort of—hoping you would say yes."

I watched his face very carefully during his monologue. I don't think he's lying to me. If he really means all of that, then maybe we have got a shot. It won't be easy, but maybe we can make living together work after all.

"Okay," I say, sitting down at the table, next to him, and putting my hand on top of his. "But you can't lock me in the bathroom more than—once a month."

"What if I don't do it for a year? Can I then do it 12 days in a row?" he asks, completely serious. I'm getting better at figuring out whether or not he's tanking my chain and I don't think he's doing that now. Plus, this is a classic House question.

"No. Well, maybe, if you do the dishes every night for…ten weeks before hand, and you don't complain when I haven't got time to make breakfast or lunch." I watch as he smiles, and even chuckles a little, considering his options.

"Nah. It's not worth it. Oh and while we're on the subject, at least two days a week—not counting Saturday and Sunday—you can't make a sound before 8:00. Got it, Jimmy?"

"One day at 8:00, and one at 7:30." I can tell he doesn't love the compromise, but he agrees with it in the end. We order in Chinese food, and eat it, sitting in front of the TV set, with some movie on in the background.

Four hours, and six beers (3 each) later, I turn to face House, shut the TV off and smile. "I love you," I say, "and I'm glad you decided to let me move in with you." A couple of minutes go by, and not much happens. He takes the remote back, turns on the TV, and pops a couple of Vicodin. Then he leans back, dropping his arm over my shoulder.

"Yeah," he tells me at last, "me too," and I know that he really does mean it.


	6. The Move

AN: I decided to write one more chapter, a real conclusion.

"I sit and watch your flowers wilting in the kitchen

I felt like I was one of them gasping for air.

I go from room to room hoping to find your presence

I play my music louder than you'd like me to," Better Than Ezra

"Just how, exactly did you manage to accumulate this much junk in one hotel room?" House asks, as he steps through the door and looks around at everything. He doesn't even pretend that he's going to help me pack, just plops onto the bed and turns on the TV.

"Does it really matter? It's not as if you are actually plan on carrying any of this stuff anyway," I scoff, as I start to fold my clothes, organize them and put them into the cardboard boxes.

"Well, I was gonna help, but you know, bum leg and all. I have a note, incase you were wondering about that." Then he watches me for a minute or two. "What are you doing?" He starts digging through the box closest to him and sniffs it. "Something smells."

"Unless you're going to help me pack, keep your hands off of my stuff. You are such a pain in the neck. I honestly do not know how come I even put up with you sometimes."

"If I'm going to let you move into my apartment, I need to be sure you're not going to still be sure you're not going to stink the whole place up." We stare at each other for a while and then he starts to laugh, like a madman.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" I ask, grabbing my shirt back. That does get him to stand up, but he doesn't put anything into one of the many boxes I've got sitting all over the room. He picks up a framed photograph, turning it over in his hands.

"Are you sure this whole moving in thing is a good idea?" He says that so quietly, I'm not sure whether or not he's actually talking to me, or if the question was aimed at himself. So I make my way over to his side, and take the picture from him.

"I think we can make this thing work, if—I think we can make this work. You just need to have faith." Then he gives me the look and for a long couple of minutes, I'm sure he's going to say something else, especially with my last comment, but he doesn't.

"If you really believe that, then I guess I have no choice but to trust you. Got any small boxes? Preferably something fragile?" he asks, with that wicket look in his eyes. Like I would ever trust him with any of my boxes, let alone something fragile.

"It's fine. I've got everything under control." It takes about four hours to get all of my stuff boxed up and put into the car, and then another two hours to bring them all inside. I don't unpack right away though. Pretty much the second we get through the door, he drags me back into the bedroom. "Oh come on, I haven't got time for—Mmm. that's nice," and like that, my resolve fades away and the two of us shed our clothes, and hop into bed. Okay, we don't actually hop, but it's mind-blowing sex, who cares about the details?

"Well, it's certainly going to be fun having you around," he informs me and then climbs out of bed and heads toward the kitchen. I can hardly even think for about a minute and a half, and when I can, what he said barely registers.

"I'm ordering a pizza, want some?" Asking if I 'want some,' is basically House's way of saying, 'you're paying.' That's annoying and eventually will have to stop, but as for now, we don't have any serious problems. I think I'm going to like it here.

I love him so much, and I know that one-day, we might even be able to figure out most of the small stuff too. I need to be careful not to nag him too much, and he has to be careful not to treat me like a chump all of the time.

"Could you clear out a couple of drawers, or something for me?" I ask, starting to open my boxes and unpack. He doesn't answer me. So I ask again, this time walking into the living room and standing right in front of his face.

"Can't you do it? You're really good at folding and organizing and what not. Just make sure you put your stuff in the lower drawers. No sense in me having to crawl around to get to my clothes out of the dresser"

When I start going through the drawers, I discover, much to my horror, not a single item was folded. As far as I can tell he just balls everything up and throws them into random drawers. By the time I finish re-folding, moving, unpacking, ect, the food has come and House is already eating.

I sit next to him, reaching for a carton and a set of chopsticks. "You know something?" he asks, and I let him talk even though I'm pretty sure it's not going to be something I'd love to hear. "You're not nearly as annoying as usual. Maybe this moving in thing wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"Yeah, well, we've still got a couple of things to work out, but I'm not gonna make a federal case out of it…not right now anyway. I'm just gonna sit here and enjoy watching TV and drinking beer and—."

"Never mind. You're still annoying. It must be the drugs. They take the edge off of anything, especially you," House informs me and then swallows a fistful of Vicodin as if to prove a point.

"You know, I swear to…sometimes I think you do that, just to piss me off!" I know better than to get into it with him over the pills, but sometimes I just can't help it, especially when he's being more annoying than usual.

"Yeah. You're all I think about. Couldn't have anything to do with my actually being in real pain." Then he watches me for a few minutes and smiles, again. "Forget it. I'm not gonna fight with you. Not right now. So if you can drop it so can I and then we can just hang out. Okay?"

"Yeah," I say without a moment's hesitation. "Okay."


End file.
